If I Were A Pirate
from the archives: August 2005 Note: it was an especially bad day in my former job as middle manager
If I were a pirate, you would've walked the plank like at least 3 times today, you scurvy cur.
If I were a pirate, I would not have a poofy shirt with ruffles. I would instead follow the Pirate Fabio tradition and have a white shirt tucked into my skin-tight black leather breeches, and it would be totally unbuttoned and blowing in the sea-wind and artfully showing my cleavage to the world and I would rule the World Of Men through the power of my lady-cleavage. Because in the end, the twins always triumph. You know it, I know it, and so does the World Of Men. I'd take my advantages wherever they come from, if I were a pirate. So you'd bow before me breasts, me hearties.
If I were a pirate, when you showed up late for the weekly meeting for the like 4th time in a row, showing no remorse, not even pretending anything's amiss, no apology, nothing - as though it is your god-given right to stroll in while I'm talking, 20 minutes into the proceedings, a clear act of defiance - I would brandish my razor-sharp cutlass in your face and you'd splutter: "But but but but!" and I would bellow: "INSUBORDINATION!" and the unwashed, rickets-riddled ship-hands would send up an almighty chorus of "To Davy Jones's locker with the bilge rat!" They would do that because they are, in fact, me hearties. Unlike you, you film of scum on the chumbucket, you.
If I were a pirate, I would wear knee-high, black leather boots with impractical heels and big buckles (see below), and just TRY to defy a woman wearing those boots, motherfucker.
If I were a pirate, I would snag your arm with my hook-for-a-hand every time you did that shrug-pffsh-eyeroll thing that I HATE. You'd look lively, swab, and think twice about discoursing at length on the usefulness of my directives, lest you meet rope's end. Because if I were a pirate, I could TOTALLY scupper your ass.
If I were a pirate, you wouldn't blow me off, grab the ship's wheel, and announce we're headed for Antigua, and then ACTUALLY GET SHITTY WITH ME when I tell you thanks for the idea and I'll discuss it with the rest of the crew because it's their loot too and I'm their captain and you're SO close to being fish food.
If I were a pirate, I would only have to tell you to do a thing once and then you'd do it or else walk the goddamn plank. Because it's ME who's wearing an eyepatch, and ME with the gold-capped teeth and ME with the mangy parrot on MY shoulder, and ME with the luscious little kidnapped virgin noblewoman down in the cap'n's quarters who will bang me six ways to Sunday and this is MY SHIP. Get it, bucko?
Because you know what? I am so totally NOT a pirate. But whether on sea or dry land, don't get into a pissing contest with the likes of me. Our little jollyboat is so much jollier when we all hang out with our yo-ho-ho and our bottle(s) of rum, singing chanties and counting dubloons. So don't go messing with it, or it's Man Overboard with you.
In conclusion: Arrrr.